Kiss It Better
by TheTrickyOwl
Summary: Ever since childhood, Kili could always count on his uncle Thorin to take the pain away. { Thorin Oakenshield / Kili } Angst.


Kiss It Better

The first sound Thorin heard was a great wail from beyond the walls of the simple home he and his sister Dis shared in the Blue Mountains. Lifting his head to listen, dark braids swinging with the momentum, he recognized the distressed sobs of his youngest nephew before another little voice called out for him.

"Uncle Thorin!"

Carving blade and whittled wood tossed aside, he heaved himself from the dining table and made for the back door. Once he swung it open and stepped out into the crisp spring air, his eldest nephew Fili was at his side instantaneously, tugging hard at his tunic.

"In the name of Aule, child, what happened?" Thorin asked, stumbling forward when the blonde yanked hard.

"Come! Come quickly!" Fili begged. "Kili fell down!"

Thorin scooped up his nephew in one arm and made for the garden in a dash, where he spotted little Kili curled up at the base of a gnarled old apple tree. So tiny was he, that the tall swaying grasses nearly shielded him from sight. He was sniffling and sobbing into dirty little hands, the knees of his breeches split open. When he noticed the approach of his uncle, Kili whimpered and lifted his pudgy arms, wanting to be picked up and held.

Thorin knelt in front of him, instead, and set Fili down close. "Kili… What did you do?"

Kili sniffed and knuckled away his tears. "I w-was… climbin' the tree… a-and my boot slipped and I fell. Down, down, down, all the way, and landed in Mama's rose bush."

"I can see that," Thorin took in the sight of his nephew's little bloody knees, and plucked bits of leaves and needles from his mussed chestnut hair. "Look at you, child. You're all scraped up."

While Kili sniffled and hiccupped, Fili peered curiously over Thorin's shoulder at his little brother's wounds. The beads at the end of his little blonde braids clinked together melodiously. "He's bleeding something awful, uncle. Will they have to chop his legs off?"

"Chop my legs off?!" Kili's wet brown eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

Thorin scrubbed a calloused hand down his face and sighed. Dis was far better at handling these situations than he was. "No, boys, there will be no leg chopping this day. At least, I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Fili inquired.

"We'll have to address the wounds," Thorin nodded solemnly. "See how bad they are."

"I don't want to lose my legs, uncle!" Kili wailed.

Thorin gathered his littlest nephew up in his arms and stood, chuckling as the tiny dwarf clung to him like a leech to skin. The boy was trembling, and Thorin rubbed his back soothingly.

"Let's bring you inside and get your wound looked at, hm? Your mother will be home from the market, soon, and I don't think she'll want to see her little sweetling bloodied and covered in dirt."

Kili sniffled and nodded, burying his nose in his uncle's long, thick hair. Little fingers curled around one of the thick braids dangling from just below Thorin's temple, tugging enough to almost make it uncomfortable, but Thorin did not complain. The lad did this when he was frightened.

With Fili following close at his heels, Thorin carried his nephew back into the comfort of their little home and toward the bathroom at the back. Inside, a basin of fresh water warmed by sunlight awaited them, and Thorin set Kili down on the floor.

"Off with your breeches, little one," Thorin said softly, wiggling the torn, stained fabric from the little dwarf's hips.

Fist still firmly locked around one of Thorin's braids, Kili lifted up one little leg, then the other, allowing his uncle to strip him free of his pants. He wiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand, and made a little squeak sound when Thorin lifted him and settled him onto his lap.

"Fili, could you fetch me some clean washcloths, please?" Thorin asked.

The eldest dwarfling, always eager to please his beloved uncle, moved hastily to the wooden cabinet on the opposite end of the room and brought back a heaping armful of freshly laundered cloths. There were more than those little arms could carry, and some tumbled out of his grip to leave a trail in his wake.

"Is this enough, uncle?" Fili asked, proudly displaying the mountain he was holding.

Thorin chuckled. "Indeed. More than enough. Thank you, Fili."

Taking one of the offered cloths, Thorin dipped the fabric into the warm water. Kili was suckling on his thumb, now, other hand still clinging to Thorin's braid like a lifeline. Those bright brown eyes watched curiously as Thorin wrung out the cloth, and then led it over to one scraped knee. Kili whimpered at the contact, shifting in his uncle's lap.

"Shh, shh, shh, little one…" Thorin soothed, petting his nephew's head while he gingerly tabbed at the tender skin, wiping up the blood and dirt stains.

"It hurts," Kili's voice trembled.

"I know." Thorin whispered. "But, you must remember that even the greatest warriors suffer wounds that bleed and ache. Do you think that stops them?"

Kili blinked wet eyes up at him and shook his head.

"Are you a great warrior?" Thorin asked, moving the cloth over to the other knee. There was no flinch this time.

"I don't know…" Kili frowned. "I never fought in no battles like you, uncle."

"Aye, but victories do not a warrior make, little one." Thorin said. "It is courage and strength, loyalty and a willing heart. Why, look at you. You survived a great fall from a tree, and came out with naught but a few scrapes. Such strength you have for a tiny dwarf. Imagine how you will be once you've grown!"

Kili's eyes lit up, and his mouth split into a wide smile.

Setting the wet cloth aside, Thorin took up a dry one and used it to dab his nephew's little legs dry. "There we are. I think you'll be able to keep your legs, my little warrior."

Kili giggled, wriggling in Thorin's lap while his uncle and older brother worked on getting his knees bandaged, so that there was no risk of dirtying his scrapes while they healed. He let out a squeal when Thorin took up one of his little feet and pressed a kiss to his toes.

"Uncle! Your beard tickles!" Kili's laugh was cut short when he felt his uncle about to set him back on the floor, and gave the braid in his hand a sharp tug. "Wait, wait!"

"What is it?"

Kili lifted his legs and pointed to his knees. "Kiss it better?"

Thorin felt himself smile warmly, before leaning in and placing two sweet kisses on each of his nephew's little knees. "Better?"

"Better! Thank you!" Kili squeaked, before finally releasing his hold on Thorin's braid and hopping down to join Fili on the floor.

The two of them scampered out of the room at the sound of their mother entering the house through the front door, Kili leading the way with a giggle as bright as sunshine as if he had never been hurt at all.

* * *

"You fool. You absolute fool, Kili!"

Regardless of how soft Thorin's growl had to be at this hour of the night, it managed to reduce Kili to naught but a shamed lump on the ground, his head hung so low that his pesky mussed bangs fell over his eyes.

Thorin was knelt right beside him, examining the monstrous slice that ran from the boy's knee down the length of his long, muscled calve. It was brutal to behold, the flesh around the wound swollen and deeply red in colour. An Orc blade will do that; tear open the flesh in the most crude and unclean manor. Kili had been suffering the wound for nearly a fortnight, but thought it best to keep it hidden from his uncle and brother. They had far too much to deal with, already, and the last thing Kili wanted to be was more of a burden than he already was.

Unsurprisingly, this was not his most clever of decisions, for the wound had begun to fester, the pain reducing Kili's usually swift and agile movements to clunky clumsiness. It was hard to walk, hard to fight, hard to sleep with the damned thing always burning, always stinging. And he'd begun to feel ill, his stomach churning, his head always fogged and throbbing. It was only when the color had drained from his cheeks, and he'd lost consciousness during a simple climb uphill that Thorin had finally discovered his well-kept secret.

And he was not happy.

The Company had been forced to stop and make camp for the night, which only slowed the progress of their journey to Erebor. Oin had made up a brew for Kili to drink that would rid his blood of the toxins the wound had seeped into him. It was the most foul concoction Kili had ever tasted, and he was made to drink two flogs of the stuff to ensure his life was no longer at risk.

Now, with most of the Company settled into sleep, Thorin had taken it upon himself to dress and treat Kili's wounds himself. Fili, who had been left in the dark about the Orc wound just as much as the others were, was off somewhere in the woods, possibly letting out his feelings of betrayal and worry for his brother by hacking at some poor foliage with his knives.

Kili had an awful lot of apologizing to do.

"I'm… I'm sorry, uncle," he said softly, watching Thorin through the curtain of his bangs.

"Sorry does not cover it, Kili," Thorin snapped, using a mortar and pestle to crush up some dark paste made of roots and various powders Oin had in his rucksack. "Durin's Day is fast approaching. This is valuable travel time lost, all because of your absolute recklessness."

Kili fisted at the woollen blanket draped over his bare hips for modesty's sake, as he was no longer wearing his breeches and boots. He watched Thorin jab and grind at the paste in the clay bowl he held, the moonlight catching off the bits of silver that had made its way into his uncle's dark hair.

"I did not wish to worry you," Kili tried to explain, but he found that the more he spoke, the stupider he sounded. "The wound was not so bad before, and you already have so much to worry about. I did not want to be a burden."

"And look at where we are now." Thorin's icy blue eyes glared from beneath thick brows. "By attempting to not be a burden, you've burdened us worse than before."

Kili lowered his gaze, feeling the familiar sting of tears behind his eyes. He dared not cry, though. Not in front of his uncle. He already had enough to be ashamed about.

Once the paste was done, Thorin dipped his fingers into the mixture, gathering up a generous dollop of the stuff.

"This will sting," he warned, before smearing the paste right over Kili's wound.

The sound that escaped Kili's lips was nothing short of startling, his teeth clenched as he cried out through the sudden bite of agony. The paste was thick, but managed to seep into every last open crevice of the wound, feeling like an iron hot poker searing into his flesh. Now, he could not control the tears, and the sob that he let out was downright pathetic.

He could sense the shadow of his uncle looming over him, before feeling a hand running through his long mess of chestnut hair, the gesture oddly comforting. Kili sniffled, vision blurred with tears as he watched Thorin rub the paste into his wound until it was good and coated.

"It's too late for stitches, now." Thorin explained softly, reaching for a roll of bandage. "Oin said this stuff will serve well enough with keeping your wound closed while it attempts to heal. You'll have to try and stay off of it as often as you can in the process. You're lucky your whole leg didn't have to be cut off. Or worse."

Kili looked up at his uncle, that hardened face shadowed by the dense curtain of black and silver waves that fell around him. The gleam of a bead caught the boy's eye and he reached out, fingers seeking the familiarity of that one long braid he knew so well. As soon as his hand closed around it, Thorin paused what he was doing, and those cold blue eyes met his own.

"I'm an idiot," Kili said.

His uncle's expression softened. "Yes, you are."

Kili dropped his gaze, shamed.

"But you are _my_ idiot." Thorin added, leaning in close to press lips to the boy's brow. His beard tickled, like it always had. "My reckless idiot of a nephew."

"A nephew you love, if I may add." Kili felt himself smile.

"Aye, that I do." Thorin shook his head, exasperated. "You will not do this again, do you understand me? No more secrets. No more foolishness. If anything happens to you, anything at all, you come to me immediately. Are we clear?"

Kili nodded, stroking the softness of his uncle's braid between his forefinger and thumb.

"I'm going to have to bandage your leg, now." Thorin said, looking between Kili and the braid. "Think you can release your hold on me for a few moments?"

He let the braid reluctantly swing away and laid back, watching with hooded eyes as his uncle wound some soft bandage around his leg. From knee to ankle, Kili was layered in the stuff, but the pain had subsided into naught but a tolerable throb. He could handle that.

"There," Thorin pinned the bandage in place, and patted Kili's knee. "Try not to move too much. And get some sleep."

Once Thorin was packed and made a move to return to his own sleeping roll for the night, Kili reached out and grabbed hold of his uncle's tunic, holding him in place.

"Wait…"

Thorin peered down at him curiously. "What is it?"

He lifted his injured leg slightly and grinned. "Kiss it better?"

It was merely a jest, something Kili had not really been serious about. But, when Thorin dropped to the ground, one calloused hand slipping beneath Kili's leg to gently cup the back of his knee, the boy felt all form of breath leave his body. He watched, heart thrumming wildly in his breast, as Thorin leaned in and pressed the gentlest of kisses to his bandaged wound. Had the layers of fabric not been there, Kili would have felt the tickle of his beard, the warmth of his breath, the pleasing softness of his lips. It was something his uncle had always done to his injuries since before he could walk, from scrapes to bruises to bumps. But this time…

This felt different.

"Better?" Thorin asked, raising his head.

Kili was certain his voice had abandoned him. "…B-Better."

"Good," Thorin nodded once, hiking the strap of his bag over one broad shoulder. "Goodnight, Kili."

Kili watched him walk away and circle around the dying campfire to where his sleeping roll awaited him next to Dwalin. Heart feeling as though it was gripped tightly in a vice, he tore his gaze from his uncle's back and, instead, watched the way the coils of smoke danced and disappeared into the starry sky above.

Fili, having returned from wherever he had stormed off to in the woods, slid into the sleeping roll at his side and locked an arm around his little brother protectively, still too angered to speak just yet. Kili didn't mind, and fell into his first deep sleep in a long time that night.

Thorin filled his dreams.

* * *

Fili was the first to fall.

With an onslaught of blades hacking and slicing at Thorin from every which direction, he hardly had a moment to look back and notice the shower of arrows raining over them, and stop his nephews from charging forward to shield his uncle with their own bodies.

Fili was hit first; one, two, three arrows striking him dead in the chest. His blonde hair billowing out behind him like a river of precious gold as his body tumbled backward into the muddy, blood-drenched earth. Kili, ever the fighter, tried hacking the arrows away with the blade of his sword, but it was to no avail. He was struck four times, one arrow even going so deeply into his shoulder that the crude, jagged head came out the other side.

Their bodies fell together in a heap, one right next to the other, lying side by side as though they were children again napping in the grasses under their mother's apple tree.

"NO!" Thorin roared.

He slashed at the enemy, sword slick and glistening with the putrid black blood of Orc. Swinging the blade up in a graceful arc, the tip whistled with the speed before hacking off a head here, a limb there, body parts lopping off and landing around his boots. Thorin left a path of utter destruction in his wake as he made way for his nephew's too-still bodies.

Around him, the chaos of war was like a thunderous roar in his ears, but none seemed to pay him any mind for the moment. Men and dwarves and elven-kind alike surrounded him, battling on with the Orcs and goblins who threatened to lay siege to the Lonely Mountain. Blessed with a few moments of peace, he knelt before the body of his eldest nephew.

"Fili…" Thorin's voice shook, and he brushed back mud-caked blonde hair from the boy's handsome face.

The grey eyes that stared back at Thorin, the eyes that reminded him so much of his brother Frerin, the eyes that belonged to the next heir of Erebor… were lifeless.

"No… No, no, Fili…"

Fili; gentle, charming, mischievous little Fili with his golden braids and contagious laugh and smug walk, was gone. All at once, Thorin felt his stomach lurch, and his heart clench viciously in his chest. Laying his sword down upon the muddy earth, he reached out with trembling fingers, and brushed Fili's eyelids closed.

A struggled intake of breath at Fili's side alerted him.

"Kili!"

Thorin practically crawled across the mud to his youngest nephew, leaving his sword behind for too great was his concern for the other dwarf. Kili's eyes were open, and his chest was heaving in an unsettling manner. A small trickle of blood had begun to run down from the corner of the boy's lips.

Thorin drew his only living heir's body against him, mindful of those bastard arrows sticking out of the boy like he was a pincushion. Kili was barely alive, but alive nonetheless. His brave, strong little warrior.

"U-Uncle…" Kili choked.

Thorin shushed him softly, wiping away the blood from his lips. "Hush, now. It's all right. I'm here. You're safe."

Kili gulped, and then coughed in the most unpleasant way, causing more blood to fall from his lips. He was struggling to breathe, shaking in Thorin's arms not unlike the way he used to quiver as a child when a thunderstorm shook through their home. His clothes were quickly growing red with blood, the warm wetness of it soaking through to stain the King's breeches and tunic. Thorin cared not.

"W-We…" Kili's voice was so soft, Thorin could barely hear it over the roar of battle surrounding them. "We f-failed you, uncle."

"No, Kili," Thorin shook his head. "You and your brother have fought bravely. You have put everything on the line to fight for a home that you have never known…" his voice caught in his throat. "…and for an uncle that should have been better to you. I let you down. I let us all down. It is I who should be named the failure."

Kili stared up at Thorin for a long moment and, if not for his blinking and the occasional intake of breath, could almost be mistaken for dead. His cheeks had grown pale in colour, his brown eyes losing their light. His hand lifted, then, and found Thorin's braid, which had nearly been unravelled in the heat of battle. His fingers curled around it weakly.

"No one could have asked for a better uncle, or a better King."

Thorin made a sound not unlike a sob, and closed his hand around Kili's.

"Just lay still," Thorin urged, clearing the emotion from his throat. "Lay still and stay awake, Kili. I will call to Oin, and he will help you."

But, as Thorin raised his head to search for the elder dwarf, the one with all the herbs and concoctions and bandages in his rucksack, the one who could hinder any poison and stitch up any wound with utmost precision, was nowhere to be seen.

Now, it was Thorin's turn to start shaking uncontrollably as panic and dread cloaked his heart.

"Thorin…"

Kili's voice grabbed at his attention, and Thorin gazed down at him through blurry, tear-filled vision. "Yes, Kili?"

A smile, soft and sweet and so utterly Kili spread weakly across the boy's lips. He gave the braid a little tug. "Kiss it better?"

Thorin laughed softly through the onslaught of tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes and spilled down over his dirt-stained cheeks. Leaning in, he pressed their brows together, brushed the very tips of their noses together, and finally claimed Kili's mouth in a gentle kiss. The boy made a sound of surprise against his uncle's mouth, gasping and clutching the braid ever tighter.

Kili's lips parted, inviting the elder dwarf's tongue inside, and Thorin winced slightly at the sharp taste of blood he found there. Kili's mouth was soft, dry, slightly sweet beneath the flavour of blood. His fingers curled into the tangled, matted mess of Kili's hair, and Thorin couldn't help but feel an uncontrollable sense of a missed chance.

Missed nights filled with Kili and Fili's laughter in the halls, missed mornings waking with the warm sun-kissed body of his youngest nephew nestled so snugly against him. He'd missed opportunities to hear Kili's sleep-thick voice in his ear; to see that wicked little smile out of the corner of his eye, beckoning him to bed; and to behold the sight of him and Fili standing next to the throne of Erebor, looking like the noble Princes they were.

Thorin hadn't acted upon his emotions quick enough. Had been so busy focused on revenge; on hoarded gold and the damned dragon and the Arkenstone, he'd missed the chance of happiness that had been at his side the entire time.

Fili was dead, and now Kili was dying. Kili was dying in his arms at this very moment, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He'd lost his chance. He'd lost everything.

Drawing back from the kiss, Thorin offered his sweet little nephew a smile. His own tears had dotted Kili's cheeks with moisture, creating little tracks in the dirt there. "Better?"

Kili smiled back, weakly. "…Better."

It was then that the grip on his braid suddenly loosened, and the hand that had held on so tightly fell away, falling lifeless to the mud below. The light in Kili's brown eyes—eyes that had gazed upon Thorin since childhood with such wonder and admiration—flickered, and went out.

He breathed no more.

And Thorin, arms heavy with the weight of his dead nephew, his brave and reckless and sweet little Kili, felt his entire world crumble to ash around him; a world where no amount of gold or glory could ever fix.

And he screamed.


End file.
